


Bleeding

by Questions3



Series: Fuzzy Footed Foolishness [14]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Hobbits, Blood, Cutting, F/M, Female Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: “I don’t regret my actions Master Dwalin, don’t misunderstand. I’d kill an army of orc for any one of the Company,” the curly head shook from side to side tiredly as large, exhausted eyes turned up to him once more, “But this is my penance. ‘Blood let for blood spilt’. It’s a reminder, and an apology. It could have just as easily been me that fell afoul a blade this evening and it won’t do to forget that anytime soon.”Not about cutting. Not even close. I wouldn't associate this with the coping mechanism to be completely honest, being aware of the psychology behind the act. This is neither an aggrandizement, sanction, or ridicule of it. But, seeing a possible parallel, I thought it best to forewarn you just in case there were any issues.





	

            They’d made it.

            Somehow they’d bleedin’ made it.

            And none o’ them were dead or beyond repair, though, looking at Thorin, the damned fool could use bout a month of healing and a round or two with Dís to remind him he’s no’ some mythical fuck warrior who should charge into battle withou’ any backup. But that’d hafta wait. Till then at least they had the Halfling who’d made no little noise about how damned fool hearty that stunt with Azog had been. Speakin’ o’ the wee thing… Dwalin had last seen her as she was hovering by the lad’s making sure Kíli still had an arm and Fíli’s leg wasn’t broken. They’d stopped a tic after their controlled fall from the top o’ the perch them bleedin’ large birds had left them. Everyone was lounging in the foliage taking a well deserved breath but it seemed the las had scampered off somewhere. Probably getting’ more water from the river not too far off…

            “Wha’ the hell are ye doin’?!” Dwalin growls as he wrenched the damned elfish letter opener from her limp grasp. She was crouched there by the bank with Gandalf’s gift pressing into her soft flesh and just staring at her arm as if transfixed. He cupped the bleeding arm and watched, terrified, as the dark red liquid wells up and over the raged gash. He quickly moves to staunch the flow with a piece of his own sleeve.

            “No don’t!” Bilbo yelps as she wrestled away from him, cradling the wound to her and turning it just so as the trail drips to the ground below. Gold brown eyes look up at him in trepidation as she bites her lip and nods, “It’s… it’s a hobbit thing.”

            “It’s a damn fool thing ye mean.” He growled as he moved to grab her again.

            Tiny thing danced out his grasp again, holding her hurt to her chest and her sword arm out to stop him, “No, it’s… you were right. The Wilds are no place for soft folk.” He held himself stiff, not wanting her to race off, barely wanting to hear whatever fool reasoning she had for causing herself more hurt then’d already been dealt.

            Sensing his ill humor, or reading it from his thunderous face, take your pick, a quick pink tongue slipped out to moisten chapped lips as she continued, “Hobbits… well, we don’t kill… things. I mean we hunt and kill livestock for food but we don’t kill… people. We’re not warriors, we hold life very sacred. It isn’t in our power to condemn… _anything_ to death. Even our livestock is given a very humane, ritualized slaughter with as little pain as possible.” Her breath began to hitch and her shoulders slumped as a shiver quaked through her, her arm fell then as he eyes turned back to the shallow cut, “It’s nothing like what… what I just did.”

            “Lass… ye didn’t have a choice. It was either the orc or Thorin,” surprisingly little censer made it into his voice as he took a small step forward. Seeing she wasn’t about to bold he took a few more till he was standing in front of her ragged form, carfully picking up the arm once more. The bleeding had all but stopped now. But it didn’t seem the explanation had.

            “I don’t regret my actions Master Dwalin, don’t misunderstand. I’d kill an army of orc for any one of the Company,” the curly head shook from side to side tiredly as large, exhausted eyes turned up to him once more, “But this is my penance. ‘Blood let for blood spilt’. It’s a reminder, and an apology. It could have just as easily been me that fell afoul a blade this evening and it won’t do to forget that anytime soon.”

            “Can’t say I understand it, but I’ll let it be. This time. Now lets have Óin take a look at that and make sure ye haven’t caused yerself lasting damage.

***

            They’d reach Beorn’s before the guard had thought enough on the incident to drive himself batshit with curiosity. He’d watched the lass like a hawk since catching her, content that the instance was a solitary incident and not to be repeated. But then, he noticed as she was changing the loose bandaging Óin had placed around her wrist… there was actually a number of those thin white lines crisscrossing her forearm. He waited till the rest had retired and the hobbit was moving to wash her small hurt again before he reached out and grabbed her arm to take a second look. She barely started this time as she turned to see his intense stare, “I didn’t realize this was to become a habit Master Dwalin.”

            He turned a dire stare up at her as he trailed a thumb up and down the one, five, seven, white lines. For good measure he captured the other arm gently, finding it twinned its partner, save for the newest addition, “I thought ye said this was a mark of battle lass.” His brow was heavy over his dark eyes as they bore into her upturned face.

            Golden brown eyes narrowed a bit at the accusation in his tone before they turned back to the object of interest, “It is.”

            When she tried to wrench away from him he held fast and stared, his surprise palpable, “I thought you’d said you’d never been in the Wilds lass.”

            The hobbit ceased her trifle struggle and glared at the dwarf holding her captive, “I never said anything of the sort. You merely assumed. Even so, it hardly matters where I’ve been when the Wilds are just as inclined to come find us ‘wee folk’ where we sleep.” She managed to wrench free after his grip went slack at the confession and he watched darkly as she stormed off.

***

            He started a bit as the lass suddenly popped into being and sighed before falling to the ground outside his cell, “It was during the Fell Winter. The Brandywine froze over and the Shire was overrun with wolves.”

            He nodded as she’d paused to affirm his interest, moving to settle at the foot of the prison door across from her, where he could watch her face. The nicely rounded cheeks and happily flushed creature from that green place was gone, replaced by a pale one with dark eyes clouded in exhaustion and tense with fear and stress. Gone were the round cheeks, not quite hollow but gaunt compared to what she’d been. Even so, he found himself impressed with the figure she cut slumped on the floor before him. She may be dog tired and half starved but her back was rigid and her eyes bright with determination. Her happy smiles were preferable but there was something enthralling in the sheer will that kept her from dissipating into the shadows she was stalking.

            Accepting his confirmation she continued, “You remember I mentioned a ceremony for animals?”

            Another nod, but the dwarf remained quiet, unwilling to force more from her than she was inclined to give him.

            A nod of her own and her soft voice expounded, “We couldn’t exactly hold one for the wolves we defended against. Those were given as sacrifice, burned in the middle of town as a penance. There are those hobbits, like Beorn, who believe the letting of animal blood just as heinous as that of thinking creatures. They argue all creatures are capable of thought, where few are equipped to understand.” Here the lass rolled her eyes and turned a droll look his way, “I argue there’s little sense to be had in a turkey, and pigs root in their own shit as often as they don’t, but I allow for their ways as long as they allow for mine.”

            She stopped suddenly and turned her eyes to the sleeve covering her arm, “I’m not sure where to place those spiders though. They spoke and acted as thinking creatures. But the number I’ve taken…” As _was_ becoming habit for Dwalin to reach out as he did now, through the bars, and wrap a discouraging hand around her arm.

            When her rueful face turned up to him he spoke for the first time since she’d began her confession, “They’re naught but pests lass.”

            Her lips quirked in the beginnings of a smile, “You say the same thing about Elves.” Then her nose wrinkled in that, admittedly, adorable way as she turned a displeased look on him, “And myself at one point if I’m not much mistaken.”

            He shook his head as he shifted his hold to cradle rather than restrain, turning his eyes to the covered arm, lightly trailing his thumb up her arm, taking the sleeve with him till he was caressing the marks. His brow creased at the reminder of his previous prejudice and his need to keep her from sullying herself for the sake of such vermin.

            A small hand trying to cover his larger one had him looking back up into smiling brown eyes as the hobbit nodded, “It’s fine. I didn’t think much of myself before this either…” His cheeks went a bit pink as her eyes started trailing away from and she shifted to take her hand back, but only sighed when he kept her arm, “These aren’t from the wolves. These are from the Men that followed.”

            His quick inhale was the only sound from either for a spell as she stared at his larger, weathered hand grasping her lightly tanned and freckled arm. With a bracing breath she began, “The winter was horribly long, and frightfully harsh. The only reason the wolves made their way to the Shire in the first place was their dire circumstance. This extended to us hobbits but we had come together as a family, most of us are after all, and kept everyone alive and fed.” Bilbo breathed deeper and turned her face away and up to the ceiling above, “This is not the way of Men.” She glared at the turning twisted roots above and shook her curly head, “I shouldn’t say that. It’s dreadful of me. This is not the way of _all_ Men.” With a shuddering breath her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned heavily into the bars, as though wishing to meld through them. Dwalin’s grip tightened, as if to stop her.

            Watching her pinched face he swept a thick finger over her cheek, clearing the moisture there, “Are ye all right lass?”

            “I’m tired Dwalin,” and she sounded it. Terribly tired.

            “I know lass,” he rumbled as he shifted closer to the wee thing, hoping to share what comfort he could through the bars, “Sleep a spell, I’ll keep ye safe.”

            “… I know,” it was barely a whisper on a sigh as she slept from one breath to the next, comforted under the heavy gaze of the guard in his cage.

***

            It was becoming a bad habit, finding the lass crouched over her arm after a fight. He only prayed he’d found her before she’d cut her damn arm off after all the blood that had to have been shed this day. “Hobbit!” he roared as he grabbed both arms up, the lass coming with them, bouncing to her furry feet, eyes widening at his sudden manhandling and appearance. He barely took note as he was inspecting the appendages for damage. Only when he saw there wasn’t any did he finally allow himself to look at those burnt gold eyes again.

            They were huge, and luminesce in a dirtied and bloodied face, curly hair plastered in place by a thick white bandage wrapped around her wee elfish head. Not elfish, really, far too precious and pretty to be anything like those posy pushers. But dainty, certainly. Why was she here? She should have been miles away from this battle.

            “I couldn’t let yo- my friends march to… to their… into battle without me!” those eyes were damp as she stared up at the guard, who’s apparently been talking aloud.

            With a deep breath and a release Dwalin closed his eyes and let his shoulder’s slump for the first time since he’s seen the wee thing dangling from Thorin’s grasp. Barely registering the tiny meep the wee burglar made he used his leverage on her arms to drag her into his own, tenderly placing his forehead on the cotton swab at her own, “Aye, I almost furgot. Ye’re a damned fool.”

            “See here! I–”

            He didn’t see anything she was about to spout as he’d released her arms just to cup her soft cheeks and crush her mouth with his own. He’d meant it to be fast and for his own sanity, but then the squirming piece reached up and grabbed his beard, pushing up and into the kiss. It was a long while and a lot of panting, foreheads resting against one another again as they stood over looking a blood soaked field before either spoke again.

            Of course it was her, “Is this some kind of dwarf ritual I’m not aware of? Should I be expecting the rest of the Company to be lining up? Cause I’ll tell you right now if Nori gooses me again I’ll hit him with that hammer you’re so fond of. And I don’t want Daín anywhere near me.”

            His grip at on her waist tightened and he growled at that, “I’ll sheer anyone who tries.”

            “Oh, all right then,” the self satisfied smile was adorable, just like everything else about her.

            Save one thing, “There’s been enough blood let this day… No one’s soon to forget it.”

            Staring up at his with round burnt gold eyes, so tired, so lost, she nodded, “Aye, you’re probably right.”

            Satisfied he kissed the curly mop and led them back to the encampment where the rest of the lads would be waiting to celebrate the return of their wee burglar.

            “Your burglar,” she mumbled as she grasped one of his hands fiercely in both of his.

            He responded in kind, smiling through his muddied beard, “Aye, I know.”


End file.
